once upon a yesterday
by isn't-she-lovelyy
Summary: because everybody's stories deserve to be told. - -a collection of oneshots & drabbles for a competition on HPFC. /all generations; multiple pairings & characters. vii: Pansycentric viii: MollyIILysander ix. Lily
1. geeks and firewhiskey

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all (unless there is an OC, of course). :)**

**This is my entry for the "52 Weeks of Writing 2013 Competition" by AlwaysPadfoot on HPFC. There'll be characters from before the Trio/Mauraders-era, the Trio-era, or even Next Gen. Hopefully, this will be updated weekly for the next year... Goodness gracious... Wish me good luck... ;) **

**This is AU... as I'm not exactly sure when this would take place. **

**Prompts: **drunk, textbook, party, elation, geek, and "Did you hear about that party?"  
**Word Count:** 935  
**Pairing:** DaphneTheo

-:-

The Slytherin House has always known how to party.

Whoops and hollers echoed through the dungeons, the elation among students soaring high. Even more cheers erupted when Crabbe and Goyle dragged in the crate of Firewhiskey they'd managed to smuggle in. Daphne Greengrass was one of the first to get her hands on a bottle. Flicking her thumb, the cap flew into the air, followed by a slight cloud of carbonation. She tilted her head back, holding the flask to her lips, and let the alcoholic liquid run down her throat. It burned – naturally – as it flooded down her throat, but still, she drank on. After completing all of her exams, she decided a treat of sorts had been well earned.

"Chug, chug, chug!"

With a loud thud, Daphne slammed her empty flask onto the table, effectively finishing off her third bottle of Firewhiskey. She gave her fans lazy grins and a wiggle of her fingers, before sliding off the stool. Stumbling a bit, the blonde snatched another bottle up from the crate and staggered towards the back of the common room, away from the commotion. She could already feel a killer headache coming on – and twenty minutes hadn't even passed.

It was then that a fairly peculiar sight caught her eye. In the corner, opposite the one Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy were snogging in, Daphne spotted a familiar face seated at a small, rounded table. Feeling a bit light-headed, she hopped over to Theodore Nott, whose nose was buried deep in a Transfiguration textbook.

"Honestly, Theo," Daphne rolled her eyes, ungracefully falling into the chair across from his. "You have got to be the geekiest Slytherin I have ever known."

"McGonagall hates me," he answered, refusing to look up from his book. "I've got to finish this essay by tomorrow, or Merlin knows what that woman'll do to me." Then Theo's head snapped up, realizing the named he'd been called, and narrowed his eyes at the drunken girl sitting before him. "I am _not_ a geek."

"We're at a _party!_ To _celebrate!" _she exclaimed and proceeded to wave her arms around frantically. "And you're sitting here reading a damned book!"

"Doesn't mean I'm a geek," he mumbled, closing the textbook with a sigh.

"Then prove it," challenged Daphne. She slid the bottle of Firewhiskey across the table with a sly smile.

He eyed it suspiciously, as if it was going to jump on him any second. Finally, he flicked his eyes up to meet hers. "We're underage."

Daphne barked out a cold laugh and gestured openly around the dungeon. "Three-quarters of this room are, but is that stopping them?"

Glancing around, Theo breathed deeply and took the bottle gingerly in his hand. A moment later, he dropped the flask back onto the table, coughing and sputtering. "How do you _drink_ that stuff?" he managed to choke out, giving the Firewhiskey a distasteful stare. "It's revolting."

Unexpected giggles suddenly rushed from her lips, and she collapsed over the table top in a fit of laugher. Theo looked at her nervously, soon realizing the obvious as she threatened to topple out of the chair. "You're drunk," he accused, smirking lightly.

"Maaaaybe," Daphne slurred. With a chuckle, she added, "And you're still a geek."

He groaned in utter exasperation. "But, I drank the Firewhiskey!"

"Which is exactly what a geek would do, in order to prove he wasn't a geek," she stated simply, as if it made perfect sense. Which it probably did in her mind. Her drunken mind.

"You are impossible, Daphne Greengrass," muttered Theo, running his hands through his hair.

"I know I am," she shrugged. "D'you wanna dance?" A bright smile appeared on her lips, which was quite rare for the Slytherin.

"There isn't any music playing."

"So?" she retorted. Grabbing his hand, Daphne pulled him out of his seat – away from the table and his essay, which he conveniently forgot was due tomorrow. Hoots and howls were still ricocheting off the walls, as were the drunken laughs and sloshes of Firewhiskey being spilled upon the floor. Daphne wrapped her arms around Theo's neck once they came to a stop, and his hands rested tentatively upon her waist.

They swayed along to the nonexistent music, not being paid any attention whatsoever. He spun her around and around when she asked, watching with an amused grin. In mid-spin, Daphne's foot skidded across a puddle of spilt alcohol, and she yelped. Theo lunged without thinking, securing his hands around her torso, before pulling her upright against his chest. Both of their eyes were wide at the abrupt nearness.

Before she knew what was happening, she was leaning forward, and so was he. She tasted like Firewhiskey – which wasn't really a surprise – and he tasted like alcohol, as well. But somewhere buried deep in the back of her mind, she knew it was wrong. She was drunk. Very intoxicated. And he was _Theo._ Theodore Nott. Her polar opposite. The Slytherin that probably should've been placed in Ravenclaw. And he was _Theo._ But at the moment, befuddled by his strong aftershave and the alcohol in her system, she couldn't have cared less.

So, Daphne gripped his Slytherin green tie in her dainty hands and drew him closer, deepening the kiss. They happily ignored the wide eyes and gaping mouths and wolf-whistles that followed, too wrapped up in each other to actually give a damn.

Those Slytherin's really do know how to party, don't they?

-:-

"Did you hear about that party?" asked a second year Slytherin the next day.

"What party?" inquired her friend, intrigued.

The first began giggling uncontrollably. "The party where Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott practically snogged the daylight's out of each other!"

-:-

**A/N: Thanks you all for reading! I dunno why I've always pictured Theo as such a cutie, haha. But for this, I suppose it fits well:) Remember: Reviews are candy, and always appreciated! Love you all lots! xox**

**please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thank you.**


	2. one of those days

**This is my 2nd entry in "52 Weeks of Writing 2013 Challenge" on HPFC. Disclaimer in the first chapter. :) ****This takes place sometime after Remus left his job at Hogwarts.**

**Prompts: **shadow, sunlight, "Guess what? Nobody cares," "You know, I'm beginning to think she's a real…" and "Is that what I think it is?"  
**Word Count:** 996  
**Pairing:** RemusTonks

-:-

Some days are bad – terrible, even. And those days, when things just refuse to go your way, no matter how much you plan, are the absolute worst.

Nymphadora Tonks was having one of those days.

It was supposed to be perfect. She had planned – _actually_ planned – for once, and yet things veered off course as soon as they entered the café. Naturally. Because it's her we're talking about, right? But she liked to blame the server. Yes, it was all the _server's_ fault.

"You know, I'm beginning to think she's a real…"

"She's a real _what?_" Remus Lupin gave a tired sigh, rolling his eyes at the woman sitting across from him, who glared viscously after the waitress retreating from their table. The Muggle swayed her hips and glanced once more over her shoulder, winking flirtatiously at the werewolf, before disappearing into the kitchen.

Tearing her angry gaze from the blonde bimbo (as Tonks so affectionately called her), she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and rested her chin in her hand. "A… A real slag."

"A slag?" A chuckle slipped through Remus' lips. "Honestly, Nymphadora?"

She threw her arms up in exasperation and groaned. "How many times do I have to tell you, Remus? Do not call me Nymphadora!"

"Why not?" he inquired, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I think Nymphadora is a lovely name."

"So says you and my parents. Well, my mum anyway – I don't even think Dad likes it." Tonks snorted, fiddling absentmindedly with her bubblegum pink tresses. Who cares about looking conspicuous, anyway?

A shrill voice suddenly met her ears, instantly initiating a frown. Bloody Muggles. One in particular.

"Here you are," said the waitress, setting two glasses atop the table. Tonks took hers without a word, biting back a snide remark, while Remus murmured a polite 'thank you'. He then leaned towards her to order another item off the menu in a much quieter voice. This made the blonde giggle – rather annoyingly – and blush. "Of course, sir, I'll be right back with that."

Before Tonks could send her a stern glower, the waitress was already frolicking back off towards the kitchen. Nymphadora spun to face Remus instead, eyebrow raised. He simply shrugged, leaving her feeling quite irritated. Deciding not to argue, she folded her arms across her chest and scowled.

The warm sunlight streaming in past the parted curtains cast a soft glow over the table top. Tonks sighed and glanced up at Remus, who sipped casually on his glass of lemonade. He ran a hand through his shaggy blonde hair, seemingly golden when in the light. He looked up at her with a smile, and she immediately felt her cheeks flush – thank goodness her hair was already pink. Gnawing on her lip, she found herself staring back down at the table.

Both lapsed into silence until the waitress returned, carrying a something in her hand.

"There you go!" she grinned at Lupin, handing over whatever he had ordered – Tonks couldn't see it from the angle she sat at. Remus thanked her once more, before the waitress shifted, popping out a hip and turning her back to the witch. "So, do come around here often?" drawled the waitress. Tonks' mouth fell open – Remus looked just as surprised – at the blatant flirting right in front of her.

"Um, er… what?"

"No matter; I'm Amy," she continued, her flirtatious smile never wavering.

"Guess what? Nobody cares." Tonks spat, a shadow masking her features. Amy spun around, as if noticing the witch's presence for the first time. Not that it fazed her, for she went right back to chatting up the poor werewolf a second later.

"What's your name?" the Muggle tittered.

Lupin blinked. "Remus?" he told her, though it sounded more like a question.

Amy batted her eyelashes. "That is _such_ a sexy name."

Tonks gawked at the waitress, fighting the sudden urge to gag.

Remus seemed to be doing to same. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, never mind." Amy waved her hand in dismissal. "So, Remus, do you have any plans for tonight?"

"_What?"_ screeched an outraged Tonks. The blonde bimbo paid her no attention.

Clearing his throat, Remus smiled somewhat apologetically at the waitress. "I'm sorry, Amy, but my friend and I," he gestured to Tonks and himself, ignoring Amy's sudden scowl, "have a prior engagement scheduled for tonight. So sorry, love."

"Yes, _so sorry._" Tonks put in snidely.

Amy huffed, sounding rather offended. _"Oh,"_ she said, casting a sullen glare at Tonks. The witch smiled smugly. "Well, if that's all, I'll bring you two the check." With that, the blonde bimbo stalked back off towards the kitchen.

As soon as the waitress was out of earshot, Nymphadora threw her head back in laughter. "Told you she's a slag!"

"I suppose you did." Remus shook his head, though a slight chuckle slipped through his lips.

"So, we have plans later, eh?" she teased half-heartedly.

"Yes, I was thinking the theater – maybe catch a quick film?" he replied with a grin.

"You know I'm going to have to take you up on that offer, Lupin."

Remus laughed and sipped on his lemonade while the witch in front of him blushed, before carefully unwrapping the package handed to him moments ago. Once opened, his face lit up.

Tonks giggled, pointing towards his hand. "Is that what I think it is?"

Lupin merely sighed and took a large bite of the chocolate bar. "Mmm," he hummed contently.

"Something's never do change," she sighed dramatically, as Remus took another mouthful of chocolate.

Some days are bad – terrible, even. And the worst days of all, would be when you plan and plan and plan and nothing turns out like you'd wanted. But today, she had managed to go out to eat, shrink a slag's ego down to size, and snag a movie date with a certain werewolf she most definitely was _not_ crushing on.

Maybe Nymphadora Tonks wasn't having one of those bad days after all.

-:-

**A/N: So sorry if this is terrible. :P My muse has wandered off once again and I can't seem to find it anywhere. Meh. Reveiws to me are chocolate to Remus! :) xox**

**DON'T**** favorite/alert without reviewing, please and thank you.**


	3. simple pleasures

**This is my entry for week 3 in the "52 Weeks of Writing Challenge" by AlwaysPadfoot on HPFC. Disclaimer in le first chapter. I'm sorry in advanced for the excessive amount of fluff.**

**Dedicated to the absolutely amazing Marie (RenegadeArtist) because she's awesome and i love her:) Enjoy!**

**Prompts:** tie, fiction, "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things", old movie, flame, and "When I grow up I wanted to be Simba."  
**Word Count:** 1,077  
**Pairing:** JamesLily

-:-

"When I was little, I used to tell Petunia that when I grow up, I wanted to be Simba."

James Potter raised his brows at the redhead perched beside him, a wistful smile present on her lips. He didn't even mind that he hadn't understood her reference, because he was too busy reminding himself that he was on a date. With Lily Evans. He was on a date with _Lily Evans_. Despite the fact that it took her until their seventh year to realize she was madly in love with him.

The two were out on the grounds of Hogwarts, near Hagrid's hut and the edge of the Forbidden Forest, enjoying a quiet picnic for their first date. (Technically it was their second, but during their last Hogsmeade outing, Sirius and Peter had run in, rambling about some 'furry little problem,' and James had to leave a bit early – so Lily liked to think of this as their first proper date instead.)

"What's a 'Simba,' if I may ask?"

Realization seemed to dawn on her, and her cheeks flushed. "Oh, right – Simba is a character from an old movie; a Muggle movie."

He smirked, running his hands through his messy hair. "'Simba' seems like an odd name for a lad, don't ya think?"

"Simba is a _lion_, James," Lily rolled her emerald eyes teasingly, "not a person."

"So, why exactly did you want to be a lion," he asked with a chuckle, and reached out to twirl one of her flame-fire-red tresses around his finger, "other than the obvious fact that you have the mane spot on?"

She rolled her eyes once again; it happened quite a lot when she was around James. "Well, he was very daring and bold and…" Lily fidgeted slightly under her fellow Head's gaze. "He, um, lost his father when he was little, l-like I did, and… Oh, I was seven! Give me a break!" she groaned, as James fought a smile.

"No, no, I think it's cute," he grinned, fixing his striped tie that hung limply over his dress shirt. "You must have known from a young age you were destined to be a Gryffindor."

"I suppose you _have _been paying attention in Care of Magical Creatures, then?" she smirked, raising her thin brows playfully. "How else could you have known a griffin's a cross between a lion and an eagle?"

"Well, it's easy to pay attention in that class. There's a reason people think Professor Flore's part-Veela." James gave an overdramatic sigh, then began laughing when Lily squeaked in protest and whacked his upper arm.

She huffed, folding her arms across her chest, "Just because a woman is French, doesn't automatically make her Veela, James."

He chuckled and shook his hair out of his eyes. "Nah, I think she's part-Veela 'cause she's real fit–" the word caught in his throat at Lily's severe glare. "But she's nothing compared to you, of course."

Lily threw her head back in laughter at the guilty smile upon his lips_._ "Nice save, Potter."

With a deep sigh, she flopped down against the soft picnic blanket, being careful to avoid the now empty platter of food. James leaned back as well, resting his weight on his elbow, and took the peaceful moment to scrutinize his girlfriend of almost three weeks.

Her dark red hair was spread out around her like a fan, emerald eyes gazing up at the setting sky. A variety of pretty purples and pinks and oranges were splashed across the horizon. When he glanced back down at the lithe girl beside him, he couldn't help but think she looked like a princess. One from her Muggle fiction books that she oh-so loved to read.

"We've officially broken curfew," James whispered in her ear. "Head Boy _and_ Head Girl – that can't be setting a good example."

Lily giggled, but didn't make a move to sit up. "You know, it's kind of exhilarating," she breathed. "Breaking the rules, I mean."

He gasped sarcastically and rested a hand over his heart. "I never thought I'd see the day when Lily Evans didn't abide by the rules."

"You must be rubbing off on me," she replied.

"I must be."

The two lapsed back into a comfortable silence. James eyed her absentmindedly, and chuckled when a blush appeared on her cheeks after she caught him staring.

"You're perfect," he mumbled without thinking. Heat instantly rose to his face in recognition of what he'd said.

The sun was almost completely hidden behind the forest, and the stars began appearing in the darkened sky. Moonlight soon streamed through the treetops, illuminating where they laid.

Lily's cheeks grew redder and she smiled sheepishly, propping herself up on both elbows. "No, I'm not, James."

"Sure you are," said James matter-of-factly. "You're Lily."

She paused, bit her lip, and asked with a hint of a smile, "Do you really believe that?"

"Of course I do," he responded calmly.

"T-Thank you, James."

Then, he took her small hand in his own, enveloping it, and smiled endearingly at the blushing redhead. "Lily," he breathed, "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things."

Emerald eyes widened, rosy lips parted, and Lily looked entirely speechless – which isn't exactly common for her. They hadn't exactly said the 'L' word yet, and his sudden use of it took her by surprise. "James… I-I don't know what to say," she told him in a faint voice.

So instead of saying anything, she raised her hands, wound her fingers in his messy hair, and pulled him down so that his lips met hers in a surge of lust. He was beyond startled by her impetuous display of affection, but rapidly succumbed to the passion. Kissing Lily Evans could be a one-time experience for all he knew. Her lips tasted like the strawberries they'd had for dinner as they moved fervently against his.

When they broke apart, both breathing heavily, James chuckled. "I'll take that as an 'I love you, too.'"

"I do," giggled a lightheaded Lily.

And with that, she pressed a final peck of her lips to his. It was these simple pleasures that made dating Miss Evans a rather remarkable time indeed. James thought it was an accurate statement as he lay down beside Lily and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, keeping her snugly against his side while the sky faded to black.

-:-

**Author's Note: Before you say anything, I know James and Lily were long before The Lion King came out. I realized this halfway through writing and since I really didn't want to start over, I just went with it. Meh. :P Anyway, I hope you liked it! You can never have enough Jily, eh? ;) ****Review and make my day? Love you all! xox**

**Please don't favorite without reviewing, thank you. :)**


	4. strong and sugary

**My entry for week four of AlwaysPadfoot's challenge on HPFC. Disclaimer in le first chapter.**

**Dedicated to my little sister, Alex, who turned five today. :)**

**Prompts: **"Well would you look at that", fun, hot chocolate, "The First years must be having a field day", cozy, "Strong and Sugary, please?", and "Snow? In April? What the -"  
**Word Count:** 360  
**Pairing:** TeddyVictoire

-:-

"Snow? In April? What the –" Teddy Lupin, flabbergasted, gawked at the foggy window from inside the Three Broomsticks. He, Victoire Weasley, and a few other students from Hogwarts gathered around the door from which they'd entered only minutes ago.

"Well would you look at that," said another student from behind them, also staring wide-eyed at the snowflakes falling gracefully to the earth.

Beside Teddy, Victoire let a wistful sigh slip through her lips. "Oh, isn't this wonderful?" she exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. He smiled at her enthusiasm. Spinning on her heel, she grasped his wrist and tugged. "C'mon, let's go make a snowman!"

"I dunno, Torie," he mumbled, glancing around at his year three, Hufflepuff friends subconsciously. Was it wrong to feel slightly embarrassed?

"But it'll be _fun_!"

Teddy sighed, gave one last glance at his snickering friends, and then nodded at the blonde. "All right," he smiled. Because he was Teddy and she was Victoire and even if he was embarrassed, there wasn't any arguing with his best friend. "As long as we get hot chocolate when we're finished."

"I'll have it ready when you get back," called the woman from behind the counter, grinning at the two of them endearingly.

"Strong and sugary, please?" requested Victoire with a giggle.

"Of course."

With that, the blonde pulled on Teddy's hand and they were out the door and into the snowy streets before he could blink. Victoire launched herself into the snow, rolling the white powder into a small ball for the base of their snowman.

"The first years must be having a field day," remarked Teddy, smirking at his _first year_ friend, who rolled her eyes.

She planted a hand on her hip and pointed a sassy finger at him. "So are the third years," she retorted.

"You've got a point there." Both fell into fits of laughter as they continued building their snowman.

The first and third year soon finished their snowman – which they decided to make a snowwizard – and returned to the Three Broomsticks. There, Teddy's friends looked jealously through the window at the snowwizard, and Victoire got her strong and sugary hot chocolate.

-:-

**A/N: So here's my short, drabble-y thing. Sorry if it seems rushed. :P Hope you all enjoyed! :)**

**Please don't favorite/alert without reviewing. **


	5. doubting awesomeness

**Here's le week 5 entry for "52 Weeks of Writing Challenge" on HPFC. Disclaimer in the first chapter. Another drabble-y thing, yay. This is AU, and takes place sometime during fifth year. R&R, por favor. :)**

**Prompts:** parchment, ink, morbid, 'Mr./Miss -, if you would just get on with your work', tired, 'You're about as cheery as Snape at Christmas', Filch, Potions, 'Curiosity Killed the Cat', and 'I'm sorry, did you seriously just doubt my awesomeness?'  
**Word Count:** 536  
**Pairing:** RonHermione

-:-

"Ronald, please keep working," said Hermione with a tired sigh. She dipped her quill into the ink bottle and proceeded to scrawl neatly across her piece of parchment. "We need to finish this by the end of class."

"But Potions is _boring_," whined Ron as he sprinkled a bit more of the green substance that he didn't know the name of into their cauldron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Does it matter?" She glanced down at the textbook, and then said, "Stir it counterclockwise four turns."

Ron, grudgingly, did as was instructed. The dungeon was filled with the sounds of ingredients being chopped up and stirred, and potions bubbling and splashing, and _ooo's_ and _ahh's_ from those who completed their antidote, which turned a sky blue color once finished.

Then Ron had an idea, and a smile lit his face. He turned to Hermione, poking her shoulder repetitively.

"What is it, Ronald?" she asked, still consumed in the textbook.

"Let's experiment! You think we could turn this into a love potion?" said the ginger excitedly, moving to flip through his own textbook – something not normally seen when it came to Ron Weasley.

"What do you need a love potion for?" she inquired briskly.

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. Maybe we could give it to Harry, to use on Cho?" he chuckled to himself.

"That's ridiculous."

"I was just curious, 'Mione."

Hermione exhaled in annoyance, tucking a bushy curl behind her ear. "Curiosity killed the cat, Ronald."

"Good thing I'm not a cat, then." Ron replied cheerily. "Think curiosity will kill Mrs. Norris one of these days…?" he mused to himself, while his potions partner muffled her laughter in her arm.

When her giggles subsided, she told him, "Don't let Filch hear you say that, or you can kiss your place on the Quidditch team goodbye, due to detentions the rest of the year."

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, if you would just get on with your work," said a nasally voice from behind them. With a sweep of his dark robes, Snape was gone as soon as he'd arrived.

"All right, you heard Professor Snape," Hermione murmured, burying her nose back in the textbook. "Two more turns clockwise."

Ron complied, again, reluctantly. "Can't we," he gestured to their cauldron; the potion it was holding had turned a sickly green. But according to Hermione, that was correct, "blow it up just a little bit?"

"No."

He groaned overdramatically. "You know, 'Mione, you're about as cheery as Snape at Christmas."

She couldn't help it; the spoon fell from her hand and she fell into a fit of silent laughter. "That's mean," she choked out, shoving his shoulder. "I'm not _that_ morbid."

"Fine then, let's experiment!" exclaimed Ron, refusing to give up on his idea.

Hermione rolled her eyes once more. "But you'll make a mess and get up in trouble!"

Ron feigned insult, resting a hand over his chest. "I'm sorry, did you seriously just doubt my awesomeness? Hermione Granger, I'm flabbergasted."

Trying to keep a straight face, and failing miserably as soon as he uttered 'flabbergasted', Hermione shook her head. "Of course not. I would never do such a thing."

"…So, we can blow it up?"

"No, Ronald!"

-:-

**a/n: thank you all for reading! happy superbowl day! ;) haha.**

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	6. it's a deal

**A/N - Sixth entry for the "52 Weeks of Writing Challenge" by AlwaysPadfoot on HPFC. Disclaimer's in the first chapter, though I think you know that by now. **

**This takes place during their seventh year when Snape was still headmaster. **

**Prompts:** blurred, swoon, same old same old, rules, mouse, badgers, "It's a deal", migraine, burning, beaten, abuse, and "Now I know what a house elf feels like."  
**Word Count**: 955  
**Pairing:** NevilleHannah

-:-

Hannah Abbott had always admired the Gryffindors. They were always courageous and brave and chivalrous, even in the face of ultimate defeat. Breaking of rules was a pastime of theirs, and they didn't necessarily break them for fun – save Fred and George – they only did it to _help._ The colors red and gold were rather nice, too.

This was exactly how Miss Abbott felt when the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open, and in stumbled a familiar face. It was easy to tell he'd beaten – she thought his nose looked broken – and even though abuse is a serious matter, it happened as often as could be around Hogwarts, now that the Carrows had taken over the students' punishments.

Alecto and Amycus watched with sneers on their faces as the boy's vision blurred and he swooned, soon toppling over while groaning a great deal. It echoed eerily through the empty hall, as did the Carrows' laughter that followed. "Now," Alecto crowed, and Hannah felt shivers run up her spine in a rather uncomfortable manner, "neither of you are allowed to leave until this floor is spotless."

Hannah glanced around the hall, grimacing at the amount of soot that covered the ground. She set her jaw as the siblings cackled at her expression. _They don't even care if it gets clean_, thought the Hufflepuff grudgingly, _they just enjoy watching us suffer._

"No talking, either," added Amycus and gave the two a distasteful stare, then smirked. "But I suppose it'll be a bit hard with that fat lip." The duo laughed to themselves at the light-haired boy's expense, who still looked slightly out of it. And with that, the Carrows' tossed them two buckets full of suds and waters, and a few rags that looked even dirtier than the floor, and left the Great Hall without another word to their detention victims.

Keeping quiet as a mouse, Hannah lifted the rag with a scowl, dipped it into the sudsy water, and began wiping the grimy floor. She began to worry, as it took a long while before the blonde boy finally came to. The Hufflepuff hadn't realized this at the time, and continued to scrub. "Now I know what a house elf feels like," she muttered under her breath.

The boy, now propped up on his elbows, blinked rapidly and tilted his head to the side. Narrowing his eyes to get a better view, he raised his brows when he saw who was also present in the Great Hall. "Hannah?" asked Neville Longbottom. His throat was scratchy and caked with dust; he coughed loudly. Hannah's head spun around at the new voice.

"Neville," she breathed a sigh of relief, scooting closer to where the groggy Gryffindor sat. "Are you all right?"

He grinned slightly – he did have a fat lip, she saw. Hannah was stunned by the fact he was still able to keep his go lucky attitude throughout this whole ordeal. "Well, I've got one hell of a migraine," he gestured to the swollen bump atop his head, "but aside from that and the irritating burning all over my body, I think I'm all good."

She gave a faint smile at his attempt at humor, though nothing about this was funny whatsoever.

"What'd you do this time, Neville?" she sighed and pursed her lips at the jagged cut on his forehead. It looked kind of like lightning if you squinted. Hannah liked to think of him as her own Harry Potter. _Oh, Merlin_, she gave an internal groan, _I did not just think that._

"Same old same old; protecting first years from the heads of detention, breaking up fights, you get the gist. So, how'd _you_ get yourself in here, Hannah?" Neville inquired. He moved to sit on his knees, grabbing a rag and beginning to clean before even told. "You're normally pretty good at lying to avoid the Carrows."

Hannah wasn't exactly sure if this was meant to be a compliment, or an insult.

She shrugged her small shoulders. "Erm, I wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on Ernie," was the mumble that came from her lips. The name of the curse alone was enough to bring on a shudder.

Neville nodded in understanding. "That's good of you."

"Thanks," said Hannah. "It's nice to stand up for someone for a change; Hufflepuffs aren't exactly known for their courage."

Neville smiled genuinely, pausing in his wiping of the floor. "I happen to think Hufflepuffs are _quite_ courageous," he told her matter-of-factly. "Like you, and Ernie, and Susan, and Cedric." A wave of grief washed over her at the familiar name – they two had been very close.

"I suppose."

"Plus, badgers are bloody brilliant."

Hannah couldn't help it; a giggle slipped through her chapped lips. "Well, I'm glad you think so. _I _happen to think they're bloody brilliant, as well."

Neville shook his head, smiling, and moved his eyes back down to the tile he was scrubbing. "You know, you should start coming to the DA meetings again, Hannah. I think our secret society would do much better having you back."

A blush rose to her cheeks as she beamed up at the Gryffindor. "Yeah, I think I will."

"I'm very, very glad."

"I just remembered; we're not supposed to be talking," she pointed out when the thought occurred to her.

He let loose a laugh, and then looked back towards her. "I won't tell if you won't."

"It's a deal," said Hannah, still grinning. The two shook on it, before returning to their work. Saying the blonde was thrilled at the idea of returning to the DA meetings, was an extreme understatement. Especially when it came to the thought of Neville being there with her.

-:-

**Another A/N - Hope you all enjoyed! And thank you sososo much to those who have reviewed! This is officially dedicated to those who have: Stephane Richer & jennyellen & AmiRide. You all are absolutely amazing:) xox**

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	7. spiraling

**A/N- Here's my 7th entry for the 52 Weeks of Writing Competion on HPFC. Disclaimer in the first chapter. This takes place in the Deathly Hallows, after the Slytherins are taken to the dungeons. **

**Sorry in advanced if this is terrible - I haven't written much tragedy/agnst before now. Remember, reviews are appreciated! :) xox**

**Prompts:** sleep, cold, mundane, "What is the point?", drunk, depression, "You said everything was going to be okay!", and spiraling. Also, the bonus genre and prompt: tragedy & blood  
**Character:** Pansy; slight Pansy/Blaise

-:-

The Slytherin dungeon was dark and cold and full of sheer despair. No one spoke, no one moved, no one dared to breathe. Especially Pansy Parkinson, _especially_ her. Whenever she looked up, she would meet a stony glare. Whenever she moved, someone would shift away. Whenever she let out a particularly deep breath, a loud scoff would meet her ears, the kind of scoff she'd receive if she was mundane. It was as if they were shunning her existence.

Which they kind of were – and she didn't blame them in the slightest. It was her. It was her fault that they were trapped down here, away from the fighting. If she had just kept her big mouth shut, this wouldn't have happened. From her place on the sofa, wound into a tight ball, Pansy continued agonizing. She was spiraling down, down, _down_ into what seemed like an endless pit of utter depression.

But it wasn't entirely her fault, she supposed. No, it was _his_ too.

If he hadn't nudged her, if he hadn't whispered in her ear, 'Say it. Say it, and it'll be all right.' If she wasn't so infatuated by his stupid good looks and witty tongue and astounding ability to convince anybody of anything, she wouldn't be in this mess. None of her fellow Slytherins would.

In a swift motion, she stood and narrowed her eyes at him. Because she is a Slytherin and, in her opinion, Slytherins are much more impulsive than Gryffindors. "This is your fault!" she screamed, sounding on the verge of hysterics. "You said everything was going to be okay!"

Blaise Zabini widened his eyes, pausing in the massaging of his jaw – a bit of blood tricked from the cut on his lip, a battle wound from a fight that had broken out earlier. He, too, rose to his feet. "What the hell are you on about, Parkinson?"

She gaped at him. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!" she screeched. Multiple heads had turned in their direction at her outburst.

"I really don't!" he spat.

"Both of you need to cut it out!" an irritated Theodore Nott growled from the couch closest to them. Curled up beside him, Daphne was on the threshold of sleep, most likely drunk out of her mind (she drinks when she frets, and she was fretting quite a bit at that time). Theo ran his fingers through her blonde hair absentmindedly.

"What is the point?" moaned Pansy, falling back down onto the couch, coiling into a ball. "We're all going to die, anyway."

"No, we are not." Blaise snapped, then moved to sit beside her. "The Death Eaters outnumber the blood traitors easily. They'll let us out as soon as they arrive."

"They'll think we're traitors, too," she mumbled in a dismal tone, sounding hoarse as tears threatened to spill over her cheeks. It's a sad day when Pansy Parkinson, _the_ bitch of Slytherin, is reduced to tears. "They'll kill us like they'll kill the others."

Blaise grasped her shoulders, yanking her upwards so that she could look him in the eyes. She flinched away from his harsh glower. "We are _not_ going to die, all right?"

"But –"

"No," he cut her off, voice shaking. "Stop it, Pansy."

She opened her mouth to continue arguing with him, but his lips crashing down onto hers made it rather difficult. Surprised by the sudden display, Pansy gasped quietly, before comprehending the obvious. It wasn't a passionate kiss, she was sure of this. It had no feeling behind it. Its lone purpose was to simply shut her up – to seduce her into relaxation.

The tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and something began to ache in her chest. It was her heart, she realized. Her heart crumbling into hundreds of pieces. She thought it'd be different with Blaise than it was with Draco. But she was wrong – completely and utterly wrong. Her story was a tragedy before it even started. They both used her. And she was done being used. But fighting back required strength, something she didn't have at the moment.

So Pansy, aching and crying and wishing everything was done and over with, succumbed to the unfeeling kiss. Pansy Parkinson, who didn't look much like a pansy at all, let her eyes close and, instead of focusing on Blaise's lips, allowed herself to continuing spiraling down, down, _down _to her own demise.

-:-

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	8. defending and rebelling

**A/N: 8th entry for 52 Weeks of Writing on HPFC. Disclaimer in the first chapter. **

**Prompts: **Hospital Wing, Stunned, the Whomping Willow, and "Who did what in where now?"  
**Word Count:** 642  
**Pairing:** MollyII/Lysander

-:-

"Lysander," began the second Molly Weasley, planting her hands on her hips. She gave him a pointed look. "Did you try and climb the Whomping Willow again?"

"What? No." The blonde boy replied, a red tint rising to his cheeks, before he tacked on, "And just so you know, that was a onetime thing. Lorcan dared me to – if I said 'no' I would've looked like a baby."

Molly rolled her eyes and tossed a lock of cranberry-colored hair over her shoulder. "Keep telling yourself that, Ly." Leaning forward, she gingerly pressed a finger to a purple splotch on Lysander's cheek. When he winced, she hastily pulled away. "Should I take you to the Hospital Wing?" she mumbled, pursing her lips.

"Nah, I'll be fine." Lysander shrugged his shoulders, but the Weasley didn't seem convinced.

"Ly," drawled Molly, and he shrunk away at her tone. "If you didn't get that bruise from the Whomping Willow, where did you get it from?"

"I… erm, I dunno," he stuttered, making sure to avoid her calculating eyes. "Wait, what was the question?"

The fourth year witch groaned. "Lysander, I'm not joking around. Who did this to you?"

"ASlytherinStunnedmelastclass becauseIcalledhimagit."

"Who did what in where now?" asked Molly incredulously, as her blonde friend had said this all in a very fast manner.

Lysander fidgeted with his fingers. "A Slytherin Stunned me last class because I called him a git."

Molly gasped, a hand flying to cover her mouth. "Was it that Mulciber fellow? Oh, I'll bet it was." She set her jaw, lips thinning as she grasped her wand with white knuckles. "I'm going to find him and I'm going to hex him into next millennium –"

"No!" cried Lysander, springing to his feet. "Please don't, Molls. I can stand up for myself, I was just caught off guard." He straightened up a bit, as if to prove his point. "It won't happen again."

"Fine." Molly huffed and folded her arms across her chest. "But why would you call him a git anyway? You're not exactly the type to start fights; he had to have done something first."

Sighing, Lysander shrugged once again. "He was… calling you names."

Her mouth fell open. "What kind of names?"

"I refuse to repeat them."

"You're impossible." Molly groaned loudly, somewhat teasingly, before flopping down on the comfy sofa. She shifted so that she was propped up on her elbow, and was able to face him. "So what you're saying is, because you defended me, you got yourself a fat lip?"

"Yep. Chivalrous of me, eh?"

She smacked his shoulder. "Oh-so very chivalrous, yes," scoffed the redhead while he laughed at her expense. "Just promise me next time you're going to defend my honor, make sure you send the first hex; it'll give you a well-deserved advantage."

"Do my ears deceive me?" Lysander gasped sarcastically, and Molly shoved him again. "Did _the_ Molly Weasley II just suggest breaking the rules? Merlin, have mercy."

"You know, I _have_ been thinking of going on a rebellious streak," she told him, fighting a smile. "Think Dad would get mad?"

Lysander smirked. "That rhymes."

"Shut up," another shove to his shoulder made him laugh. "Maybe I'll cut my hair. What d'you think?"

Shrugging, he twirled one of her locks of cranberry around his finger. "I like your hair."

"So I shouldn't cut it?"

"I never said that."

Molly chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Then maybe I _will_ cut it."

"Good for you," grinned Lysander, letting her hair slip through the gaps between his fingers.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, before the redheaded Weasley glanced up at the blonde Scamander. "I'll rebel, if you rebel with me."

"Deal," Lysander chuckled. "And our first order of rebellious business will be to hex Mulciber 'into next millennium.'"

"Are you mocking me?" questioned Molly, quirking an eyebrow.

"Maybe."

-:-

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	9. storyteller

**A/N:**** Ninth entry. Drabble. I do not own Harry Potter. Feedback is my best friend. Yada yada yada.**

******Did no one like the last two chapters? :( They didn't get any re****views...**

**Prompts:** Storyteller, heartbreak, twenty-four, family (bonus genre), & "Don't take it personally. It's just... survival of the fittest." (bonus prompt)  
**Characters:** Victoire & Lily - -family friendship**  
Word Count: **400

-:-

Victoire Weasley was an excellent storyteller. Everybody thought so – especially Lily Luna.

When the youngest Potter was a little girl, the eldest Weasley would read her stories about princesses and princes and magic and wardrobes. They'd stay up all night reading the same book over and over again. Lucy would join them often, as would Hugo, Lysander, and Lorcan. Even James and Albus would occasionally drop by along with their friends.

Sometimes, the entire clan of Weasleys and Potters and Scamanders and everyone else that happened to be there would gather around the chair where Victoire sat. There, she would read for hours on end until it was absolutely necessary for everyone to leave. And even then, the smallest children would make a fuss.

Years later, Victoire is twenty-four and married to Teddy Lupin, not to mention pregnant with their firstborn. Lily Luna is now sixteen and still makes the trek to Shell Cottage with Lucy and Hugo and occasionally Lysander and Lorcan every Sunday night during the summer, just so that she can listen to the stories she's been told hundreds of times.

"'Don't take it personally. It's just... survival of the fittest.'" Victoire reads aloud, sitting atop her rocking chair in the living room.

Lily can't even remember what she's being read, but it's hard not to become engrossed in the novel when read by her favorite cousin. She lies on her stomach on the carpeted floor, beside Lucy and Lorcan, while Hugo and Lysander sit on the sofa behind them.

"'But… you _promised._'" Victoire says the next line, normally said by the fair maiden in the story. And the heartbreak in her voice is so apparent, Lily feels herself tear up a bit – a lot, actually. Lucy seems to have had the same sensation, because Lily can hear her sniffling. She thinks she hears Hugo, too, but doesn't do anything more than smile ruefully.

Almost an hour later, the story has come to a close, and the five almost-seventh-years stand and thank Victoire for reading. Then, waving goodbye, they Disapparate from the cottage and find themselves back in their homes. And Lily, lying in bed, hopes she can be as good as her cousin at storytelling. Maybe she can read to her own children someday, and with this floating through her mind, she falls into a dream-filled sleep full of princesses and princes and magic and wardrobes.

-:-

**Another A/N: Okay, let me just say that I dislike how Victoire and Lily are always pitted against each other when it comes to the whole Teddy thing. Personally, I think _this_ is how they act around each other. Just my opinion. :)**

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